


all my dependence and delight

by seventhstar



Series: regency garbage [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Epistolary, Honor, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mpreg, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-05-16 18:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14816288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: My Regency AU amnesty collection, where I collect all the half-written regency AUs I have filed away and post them so I can stop lying to myself about finishing them.Includes AUs of regency romance novels I like, my attempt at an epistolary romance, and me relying far too heavily on regency notions of scandal and honor to create drama.





	1. regency au: dark and scandalous edition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uaevuon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a fragment of what was meant to be a much larger AU, where Viktor is a tradesman who made his fortune winning money off richer, better bred alphas, and Yuuri is the husband of someone Viktor owes money. The conceit of this AU, I believe, was that in this 'verse marriage contracts could be seized by creditors as assets, so Viktor's entire plan is to just ruin Yuuri's husband's life until he has to give Viktor Yuuri to pay his debts, since that's the only way he and Yuuri can be together. (Yuuri would be a willing participant in this plan, of course.)

Viktor takes a sadistic pleasure in visiting the Payne’s townhouse in the evenings.

He is careful to vary the times and days of his visits, so that Payne cannot avoid him, and he always tries to arrive when Payne has no guests, so that he can be as ill-mannered as he likes. In truth, the Paynes entertain very little these days, with their funds being so low. Viktor only comes to remind Payne of the consequences of being late with his payment. And to eat their food, which is cunningly prepared by a highly loyal family servant. And to check on the condition of his future possessions.

Viktor laughs at himself as he waits on the doorstep for the butler. Who is he trying to deceive?

The only reason Viktor comes to the Payne residence is to see Yuuri. And since it would look odd to be constantly calling on another alpha’s mate, Viktor merely endures Payne on occasion to give himself an excuse should anyone ever comment on the number of times Viktor has lingered past politeness merely to see Yuuri’s face.

The butler takes an insolent number of minutes to open the front door. He sneers at Viktor as Viktor steps over the threshold and shrugs out of his overcoat, which he keeps over his arm as he slips past the butler down the hall. He can hear the clink of glass and the low noise of conversation from the library.

He touches the library door; it’s unlocked and opens soundlessly. It’s a pitiful excuse for a library—Viktor seized the entire collection of books early on—and the dark spaces where the books used to be have a haunted look to them. The conversation is louder here, the voices more distinct. Payne must be entertaining. How irritating.

He steps around the shelves to find a small party gathered near the fire. There are candles everywhere, lighting this corner of the room brightly. Payne is sitting in an armchair in his shirtsleeves, a glass of cognac in his hand. Around him are five of the ton’s most useless and disreputable rakes.

And across from them, in a hard-backed chair, in peach silk, is Yuuri. The neckline of his dress would make a Cyprian blush; there are no sleeves, just a scrap of sheer muslin fallen low around each shoulder. He is clearly not wearing a petticoat or a slip; between his tightly closed thighs a dark smudge is visible through his gown.

“Good evening.”

“Nikiforov. How good of you to come,” Payne says languidly. He’s smirking.

“Yes, sit down, Nikiforov, and join the bidding,” one of the reprobates suggests.

“No, no,” another of them says. “Him? That vulgar mushroom? Bid on Payne’s mate?”

“Why not? Join us, Nikiforov,” Payne says. “This might be your only chance at a well-bred o.” He leans back in his seat and downs the last of his drink. “Come and see how the ton live.”

“In empty libraries, prostituting out their husbands?” Viktor takes a seat and steal the glass that’s fullest. Why not? Out of all of them, he is one with the most money.


	2. The Convenient Marriage AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA that time drunk yuuri won viktor in a game of cards and then forgot it happened. based, very loosely, off of The Convenient Marriage by Georgette Heyer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like most things, this is spooky's fault.

Viktor is dreadfully bored.

He doesn’t know why he bothers to come to gambling parties anymore; he made his fortune at the tables long ago and has been a reliably safe player ever since. These days Viktor only plays for high stakes on special occasions. Trade is a less glamorous way to make one’s living, but making spoiled nobles cry is only amusing the first few times.

His reputation as the one to beat persists, however, and people continue to invite them to their exclusive gambling routs, and Viktor continues to come.

At least tonight his host has obtained some brandy that deserves to be drunk. Viktor downs his glass in one gulp. He needs to be intoxicated more than he wants to savor the taste.

“What is that racket?” Chris, seated beside him, asks.

Viktor turns; now that he is paying attention, he too can hear a clamor in the hall. There is the sound of the staid old butler, protesting, and another, higher, voice arguing with him in return.

“I am _not_ a thief,” the voice of the stranger is saying. “I was only asking for milk, because these kittens are hungry—”

The door to the billiard room flies open, and the most beautiful creature Viktor has ever beheld enters.

He is dressed in a dreadful orange dress, and wearing entirely too much rouge, and carrying an open basket with five tiny, crying kittens inside. His hair is dark; his gloves are mismatched. He is swaying slightly on his feet, and after a moment and a discrete whiff, Viktor comprehends the reason for his vehemence (other than a very endearing love for kittens): he is quite foxed.

“What kind of monster won’t give milk to kittens?” he is asking the poor butler, who is clearly reluctant to touch him and aware that only force will compel this omega to leave.

“Excuse me,” Viktor says. “Perhaps, Smithson, you might bring some milk or broth for these cats? And meanwhile Mr...whomever, can sit down.”

“Yes, sir,” Smithson says with great relief. He flees.

“I’m Mr. Katsuki,” the omega says. “Pleased to meet you.” He curtsies, though not very well. Viktor takes the box from his hands and sets it on the couch beside him. “Oh, is this a party?”

“Look at the little strumpet,” someone mutters.

“You owe me ten thousand pounds,” Viktor says pointedly. “Yes, this is a party. We are playing faro.”

“I love faro! May I join you?”

“No,” Chris says firmly.

“Yes,” Lord Chadwyck, the fool hosting this rout, says. “Certainly. Deal him in, Nikiforov.”

“Shall we make it interesting?” One of the sniveling idiots Viktor has cleaned out in the past says. “What shall you wager, Mr. Katsuki?”

“If I win you all must arrange for these cats to be adopted.”

“And if you lose?” Viktor asks. Best to raise the question himself, lest some fool begin suggesting Mr. Katsuki bet his maidenhead and the party dissolve into chaos after Viktor calls them out and runs them through.

“Well…” Mr. Katsuki considers. Someone hands him a glass of brandy and he drinks it without pause. “Ah. If you win, Mr. Nikiforov, please marry me.”

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri wakes up there are five kittens in bed with him.

Not one kitten. Five! Though when Yuuri considers the matter, generally when he wakes there are no kittens in bed with him, so it is not the number of kittens that is of import so much as their presence. In addition to the kittens, there is Vicchan, who one of the kittens has climbed atop to sleep on. Yuuri rubs at his eyes and unearths his spectacles from the sheets. Upon putting them on, he discovers that he fell asleep fully dressed, in that ugly orange dress Mr. Lee gifted him, and that the neckline of the dress appears to have transformed from modest to Cyprian overnight.

He staggers out of bed—where is the maid—only to realize that this is Phichit’s house. Well, all the better, the servants at his uncle’s house are all quick to tell tales about Yuuri. He frowns at the animals before deciding they will be well enough while he washes up.

Yuuri catches a glimpse of himself in the glass as he dips a washcloth in the basin and nearly screams. He is wearing rouge on both cheeks, like a whore. And there is a handkerchief tied around his wrist with a monogram that is not Yuuri’s.

Further examination reveals that it is an alpha’s handkerchief. One who smells…

He snatches the handkerchief away from his face. _Never mind the handkerchief,_ he thinks. _Why am I wearing this dress? Why did I cut the front of it out? Where did I even get an alpha’s handkerchief?_

The reasonable thing to do would be destroy all the evidence, but Yuuri folds up the handkerchief and tucks it carefully into his valise. He scrubs away the powder and rouge on his face, then with some contortion manages to free himself from the dress. It is his plain chemist and stays beneath, at least, though Yuuri sheds those as well in favor of clean clothes. He dons a much more severe dress, in blue.

Satisfied that he is fit to be seen, Yuuri hides all the evidence of his wild night under a pelisse in his carpetbag.

 

* * *

 

“The butler says he’s not at home,” Viktor says indignantly. The carriage door is slammed shut; no doubt the footman are sick of him, too. “How can he not be at home? We are engaged!”

“Perhaps he does not want to be engaged,” Chris says.

“Then he ought to have the decency to jilt me to my face!”

“Well, it is a delicate situation.”

“That is very well in the normal way of events,” Viktor says, tugging at his braid in irritation, “but he proposed to me!”

Chris sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Viktor, are you actually going to marry this omega because of the outcome of a game of cards?”

“We had a wager.”

“He was drunk.”

“He said he wanted me.”

“As loathe as I am to boost your ego, Viktor, he is hardly the only one. You are not hideous and you have nearly fifty thousand pounds a year. You could marry any number of—”


	3. A Week To Be Wicked AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is based (again very loosely) off the novel A Week To Be Wicked, which is about an unconventional young woman who studies fossils forcing a notorious rake to escort her to Scotland to a scientific convention so she can present her discovery.
> 
> I swapped in the magic system from _a covenant with a bright blazing star_ and added some identity porn by making Viktor both the rake escorting Yuuri and the scientist Yuuri has been corresponding with secretly. There was also a subplot planned with Phichit and Chris forgoing their honeymoon to chase Yuuri and Viktor down. (If you read carefully, you'll see that the whole plot of this fic is instigated by Phichit and Chris having the temerity to marry, thereby ruining Yuuri's original plan to go to Scotland with Phichit.)

Viktor is playing with the lightning lamp again instead of sleeping.

He knows he ought to rest; Chris will expect him to ride back to town with him in the morning to assist with the wedding preparations. Viktor already has a idea for how he might change the composition of the glass to give a softer, more romantic light. Chris is the third son of an Earl; presumably he will arrange for a special license and a wedding at his townhouse.

But sleep does not come. Viktor is certain that with a little more thought, he will stumble upon the exact alteration to the lightning capture process that will take his lightning lamps from expensive novelty to household necessity. Viktor’s current line of magical devices have already made him rich—needles that will do a straight stitch without a human hand, spoons that stir themselves, a tub that heats up the water inside it—but his life’s work has been to convert lightning into a viable power source.

Y. Okukawa’s theories on the subject are fascinating, and Viktor thinks that it is a pity he will have to miss this year’s Symposium in order to assist with Chris’s wedding; Okukawa has suggested that they may attend, and Viktor would love to speak to them, and look at them, and see if their voice matches the one he imagines when he reads their long, erudite letters.

He rolls the glass orb over his knuckles, watching the point of light within arc in long streaks.

And then there is a knock at the door.

It’s after midnight.

“Who is it?”

There’s no response. Viktor rolls out of bed, checks that he’s decent, and unlocks the door. He pries it open.

Yuuri Katsuki is standing there. Yuuri Katsuki is standing there, wearing what looks like a nightgown with a blanket draped over his shoulders, blinking at him through his spectacles.

“…good evening,” he says.

“Is something wrong?”

“Why would something be wrong?”

Viktor looks around in confusion. “Mr. Katsuki, it is past midnight and you are alone and undressed outside my door. I cannot make out what you are about, if there is not an emergency.”

“I am not undressed.”

Viktor makes the mistake of glancing down and—well. He can be assured that Yuuri’s hair really _is_ that color.

“I need your help,” Yuuri says, finally.

“Come in.”

Viktor closes the door behind Yuuri, and then brightens the lightning lamp until it casts the whole room in a bluish light. He tosses it onto the bed and turns the chair by the fire, which has Viktor’s overcoat draped over the back, so that it faces the bed.

“Sit,” he says.

Yuuri is staring at him—Viktor belatedly realizes he is without a shirt, his hair untied—with flushed cheeks. He stumbles to the chair and sits down heavily. With his knees pressed together, Viktor is no longer tempted to look anywhere below the waist, but the blanket slips off one shoulder and…Viktor is going to hell. The neckline of Yuuri’s nightgown is obscene, and frayed. _Did he cut it himself,_ he wonders, and sighs.

“I want you to take me to London.”

“You—what?”

“I need to go to town. Tomorrow.”

“But—”

“I’ll pay you,” Yuuri adds. He pushes up his glasses.

“Why can’t you go to London on your own? Your family has a carriage.”

“It’s…broken.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“I saw it driving down the street this morning.”

He watches Yuuri squirm for a moment before taking pity on him. Truth be told, Viktor has no desire to ride alone in a carriage with the most beautiful omega he has ever seen, especially since Yuuri is entirely above his touch. Yuuri’s uncle, a Marquis with an inflated sense of his own superiority, had refused to even allow them to be introduced at the public assembly two evenings ago.

Viktor had tried to avoid Yuuri after that, only to find him nearby all evening long, eavesdropping with great interest on all of Viktor’s conversation. He had flattered himself, thinking that perhaps Yuuri was interested in him.

Apparently he was merely determining Viktor’s travel plans.

“You’re going to town already, aren’t you? I won’t be any trouble.”

“Your family would, if they found us alone together.”

“That won’t matter.”

“Your reputation being ruined won’t matter?” Viktor rubs his eyes with his hands. “What is so important that you must away to London tomorrow? That you couldn’t ask your own family? Are you eloping?”

“What? No, I—why would I elope? Who would want to marry me?”

Viktor swallows down an indelicate answer. Yuuri is the only omega he’s ever met who has aroused any thoughts of marriage. There’s one other person he would consider, but they have only ever corresponded with him.

“I want to go to Edinburgh,” Yuuri says, words coming out of him like water from a punctured bottle.

“To…”

“To…meet someone.”

“You want to go to Scotland to meet someone and you expect me to believe you are not eloping?”

“Yes.”

Viktor should refuse. Viktor should insist Yuuri don his blanket and take himself, and the well-turned ankles visible beneath the hem of his nightgown, out of his room and to Yuuri’s house. If Yuuri wants to elope to Scotland, he ought to at least take a companion with him to preserve his reputation. Better yet, he ought to ask his unnamed lover to come to Bath himself to whisk him off.

“Why me?”

“You were already going to town. And…” Yuuri says something too soft to hear.

“And?”

“And I thought you were least likely to take advantage of me if I barged in on you in the middle of the night.”

Viktor has to turn his head to hide his blush, because if Yuuri could read his thoughts he would not speak of Viktor’s virtue with such confidence.

“I suppose I should be grateful you did not present yourself to some alpha who would ravish you.”

“Is that what it would take,” Yuuri says, “to obtain your agreement?”

Viktor chokes.

“Fine,” he says. “Meet me here at sunrise on the road to town. I will drive you to Scotland.”

“You—you will?”

“Yes, if only to preserve your maidenhood.”

“…very well.” Yuuri gets up, and Viktor does as well, more out of politeness than any conscious decision. Yuuri holds out his hand.

His ungloved hand. Viktor shivers as he shakes it, their bare fingers clasped.

“…right. Good.” Yuuri flees; he is through the door before Viktor can even suggest he borrow a coat from Viktor, and he is gone as quickly as he appeared. Only the scent of him lingering in the room remains as proof he was there at all.

God. Now Viktor is going to have to explain to Chris why he’s rushing off to Scotland instead coming to assist him in shackling himself to Mr. Chulanont. What a disaster.

Despite himself, Viktor smiles.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is awake at down—Yuuri has not actually slept a wink—and so he is dressed as the sky begins to lighten. He throws both his valises out the window before lowered himself down a rope bound to his bedpost. The bed scrapes alarmingly across the floor, but Yuuri’s feet touch the ground safely. He slings both bags over his shoulders and sets off towards the road.

The entire time, despite the weight of the bags and the way his spectacles slip down his nose, Yuuri’s mind returns continuously to one thing: Viktor’s shoulders and chest and stomach, bare and muscled and goosefleshed in the cold. Viktor’s undone hair spilled like liquid moonlight over his skin. _Why doesn’t he sleep in a shirt,_ Yuuri thinks, as if Viktor could have known that Yuuri was going to barge into his room in the dead of night.

Maybe omegas do barge into his room in the dead of night, and Viktor’s mode of dress is his method of seduction. Yuuri cannot blame him if it is; Viktor alone and half-dressed is much more distracting than Viktor decent in a ballroom, and Yuuri is hard-pressed to focus on his steps when Viktor is making such interesting conversation as it is.

Of course. Of course in addition to being intelligent, good at dancing, and charming, Viktor is built like one of the Greek statues one sees in museums. That is exactly Yuuri’s poor luck, just as this trip to Bath ruined Yuuri’s previous plans to escape to Scotland with Phichit. First, Yuuri’s uncle insisted Yuuri’s entire family go to Bath (probably because he’d realized Yuuri was attracting no suitors in town) and then Phichit had gotten engaged and abandoned Yuuri to the vagaries of wedding planning.

Yuuri has been planning for the Symposium for months, going over the exact spells he will cast (in secret, lest someone see him and assume he has lost his virginity. One is only supposed to learn magic from their alpha, after all.) Admittedly, Yuuri has never performed magic for an audience and the idea of doing so makes him sweat and shake all over, but it is his only chance at ever getting his theories out in the world under his own name. No one will believe he is Y. Okukawa just by hearing him admit it. Yuuri will have to prove it.

So by the time the sky is pink, he’s at the side of the road, sitting on his piled valises and waiting.

Viktor is punctual; Yuuri has barely been there ten minutes before he comes rattling around the corner. His coach is smart and red; Viktor steps down from the driver’s seat and hands the reins to the driver sitting beside him before coming to Yuuri’s side.

“Are you sure?” he asks as he lifts Yuuri’s luggage into the coach.

“Yes.”

Viktor shrugs and lifts Yuuri into the coach, with no more effort than he displayed at moving Yuuri’s baggage. Inside, the seats are upholstered in velvet and the cushions are thick and soft. Yuuri pulls a rug over his lap as Viktor joins him, taking the facing seat. He takes off his hat and coat and lays them beside him.

“Good morning,” Yuuri manages.

Under his hat, Viktor’s hair is braided and pinned. It is entirely unfashionable and suits him completely all the same. How unfair, Yuuri thinks; Yuuri’s own shorn haircut is the result of laziness and a desire to avoid setting himself on fire more often than necessary. (Magic is very difficult.) Everyone insists he would look better with it long.

“Good morning,” Viktor says. He tosses Yuuri something wrapped in a handkerchief; it’s bread and cheese. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you.”

 


	4. That AU Where Yuuri Has Seung Gil's Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The premise for this one is perhaps the most hilarious: Yuuri drunkenly hooks up with Seung Gil (who I chose solely based on that whole Seung Gil kissing Takeshi thing during the Chihoko incident), gets knocked up, and has no choice but to marry immediately. Viktor to the rescue!

As soon as Yuuri hears the whispers in the halls heralding Viktor’s return from town, he flees to the library.

Or he tries to, but at five months pregnant his belly has reached a good size and his ankles are swollen, and his fleeing occurs at the same speed as that of a recalcitrant donkey. Yuuri waddles past maids and footmen frantically preparing for the master of the house, and settles himself with a shawl and a novel in the darkest, dustiest corner of the library. Away from the fire, hidden by the high back of the couch, he might go unnoticed until dinner; then Yuuri can call for a tray to his rooms and avoid having to show his face to Viktor until morning.

He pulls out the roll he has wrapped in a napkin from breakfast, and devours it.

It is with half a roll stuffed in his mouth that Viktor, moving with frankly terrifying stealth, finds him.

“Yuuri?”

“Mmph,” Yuuri says. He chews. His mouth is full of bread, and in the time it takes him to swallow Viktor has already taken a seat beside him on the sofa. He is carrying his greatcoat over his arm, and there is dust on his hat. He must have come to see Yuuri immediately.

“Are you cold?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says stupidly. “I mean—”

“You should sit by the fire.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Viktor winces, but he takes Yuuri by the hand and leads him over to the fireplace; Yuuri sits on the edge of a chair, gripping his skirts, while Viktor tends the banked coals until they burst into flame.

“The weather has been fine lately.”

“Yes, I have been walking. Not—not too far.”

“You may walk as much as you please, my love.” Viktor rakes a hand through his hair. A few strands fall into his eyes. “Although you may want a servant, if you go far, in your condition.”

“Yes.”

“I have brought you some books.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you been eating?”

“I have.”

Yuuri stares down into his lap. He’s wearing day dress, a lilac gown that makes him look bilious and that he altered himself to accommodate his new girth. A good husband, the kind of well-bred omega Viktor should have married, would have made an effort to look pretty. A good husband would have taken Viktor’s coat and arranged for tea and a hot bath and pretended to be pleased to see him.

A good husband would also have refrained from having an assignation with a stranger while drunk at a party and getting with child, but here Yuuri is, drawing the shawl over himself in a fruitless attempt to hide the swell of his belly.

“Come, we should dress for dinner.”

“I think I will take a tray in my rooms,” Yuuri adds, guiltily, “if you do not mind.”

“Of course.”

Viktor offers him his arm. Yuuri grips it, and tries not to think of how solid Viktor’s arm is, how strong he must be, how close he keeps Yuuri as they walk up the stairs and down the hall to their chambers.

“Good night.”

Viktor looks at him for a long moment before he brushes Yuuri’s overlong fringe out of his eyes, and murmurs, “Good night.”

He goes into his room to change. Yuuri has to stand out in the hall and get his breath before he retreats behind the safety of his locked door.

 

* * *

 

Late at night Yuuri cannot sleep.

It is not the baby that is bothering him, nor the fevers that sometimes plague him, nor the sickness that sometimes comes upon him suddenly. No, the problem is…

He is not sure what it is. Yuuri’s knowledge of such matters is limited, despite his scandalous behavior. He was married quickly, away from his family, and what he has heard in drawing rooms and at private parties is either useless or frightening. He’s been informed that to enjoy the marital act is the province of alphas, and that his lot is to endure it until he gets with child, but Yuuri had enjoyed his one experience well enough, has made furtive explorations of his own body at night, has seen that the omegas of the ton take lovers.

Still, it feels wrong to burn with desire the way Yuuri does, sometimes. He is lying in bed, chemise hitched up around his hips, wetness smeared along his thighs. He craves Viktor like a flower craves sunlight and water. But he can hardly ask Viktor to bed him while he is carrying another alpha’s child.

(Yuuri is always afraid that Viktor will take pity on him and oblige him. When Yuuri confessed his sins to Viktor, Viktor insisted on marrying him, instead of withdrawing his proposal and fleeing for the hills. When Yuuri begged to allowed to keep his child, even though he owed Viktor a legitimate heir, Viktor brought to him to his family estate and set out to attend to Yuuri’s comfort. Viktor might think nothing of sharing Yuuri’s bed, too, just to ease whatever madness pregnancy has thrust on him.)

Their marriage is unequal, and unconsummated, and causes Yuuri a great deal of anguish.

Still, it is all Yuuri has left, so he rolls over in bed and thrusts a hand between his legs. He does not think of Viktor, asleep on the other side of the connecting door. (That is a lie. He thinks of nothing else.)

 

* * *

 

His correspondence is piling up again, so Yuuri spends the morning at his desk in his private parlor, trying to find ways to construct acceptable letters to his friends that do not reveal he is with child, and ones to his family that do not reveal he is miserable.

They did not encourage him to accept Viktor’s proposal, not in so many words. But the Katsukis, while respectable, were not rich or well-known. One scandal would have destroyed them.

 _Dear Mari,_ he writes. _The summer here has been very warm, but there is a good breeze, and a constant supply of fruit juices from the orchard. Viktor has been trying to cultivate several varieties of…_

“Yuuri?”

“Viktor!”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No.”

“I thought we might take a turn about the lake together.”

Yuuri nearly crushes his pen. In truth, over the last few days since Viktor’s return, he has avoided two offers of a walk, an attempt to read to him, and a call from the vicar and his wife. He would like to avoid this one, too, but guilt worms in his stomach like he is a bad apple. Viktor is putting himself out to entertain him. He can hardly refuse him again.

“Let me get my half-boots.”

He changes his shoes, and they wander out onto the grounds. The sun is bright, and Yuuri only realizes once he is outside that he has forgotten his bonnet. Alone as he often is, he has gotten out of the habits of propriety. He sometimes wonders if the servants disapprove of him, but Yuuri has a strong suspicion that Viktor has had words with them about treating Yuuri with the respect due his dubious station.

Viktor keeps his hand over Yuuri’s on his arm. His gloves are glossy and dark brown. Even through the leather, Yuuri can feel the heat of his palm.

He and Viktor used to walk in the park together in town. They used to sit in Viktor’s box at the theater, and dance at balls. Yuuri used to smile at him while they waltzed and wonder if Viktor was going to propose.

“It’s a good day.” Viktor strokes the back of his hand. “Is it not?”

“Very nice,” Yuuri agrees. He wonders if it would be too much, if he leaned in, let their shoulders brush, let his head rest on Viktor’s shoulder.

The path turns, and they follow it to the shore. The water is clear and still, ducks gliding over the surface; lily pads float in patches around the edges of the lake. Yuuri learned to swim when he was a boy, as his family’s estate was by the ocean, and he longs to plunge into the water here. Perhaps after the baby is born.

“What can I do to please you?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re unhappy.”

“I am fine.”

“Yuuri, please. Is there nothing I can do that would—”

“How can you expect me to be happy?” Yuuri gestures wildly at himself, at the ground around them, in a manner his governess would have slapped his hands for. “Like this? With you?”

Even if there is no gossip, and the baby is an exact duplicate of Yuuri, and no one ever knows that Yuuri behaved so shamefully, Yuuri will know. He’ll know every time Viktor touches him that Yuuri broke their marriage vows before he even took them. He’ll know that he’s deprived Viktor of what he rightfully deserved out of selfishness.

He’ll know he ruined his best chance for happiness with his own two hands, and now what is between him and Viktor is irrevocably tinged with pity.

“…forgive me, then.” Viktor bows to him, as deeply as he would to a princess. “I will return to town tomorrow.”

Yuuri half-expects Viktor to leave him, at the lakeside with only his tears for company. But instead Viktor takes him by the arm and guides him back up to the house. He leaves Yuuri back in his parlor, the fire blazing, and goes so far as to call for tea and nuncheon before excusing himself.

All this solicitousness is more than Yuuri can bear. The babe kicks him furiously from inside, and Yuuri drags himself into the music room and distracts himself by playing and reading for the rest of the afternoon.

He does not bother to go down for dinner.

* * *

 

The weeks Viktor is gone pass with unbearable slowness.

Yuuri is normally active, but with his body heavy with pregnancy and his mind occupied by thoughts of shame and fear, he finds himself unable to manage more than sedentary pursuits. He eats, he sleeps, he reads. He writes short letters filled with falsehoods to his family and friends. He wanders the gardens and longs, as the flowers begin to die and summer turns to fall, for Viktor’s presence again.

The weeks become months. Yuuri’s innards are being pummeled at every moment by his child. He begins to truly worry, for the first time, about the child’s name, its sex, its life. Will rumors of Yuuri’s scandals dog its heels everywhere it goes? Will it be happy with Yuuri for a parent?

Will Viktor love this child?

“Your grace?”

Yuuri looks up from his mending. A maid is hovering in the doorway. She looks a bit frightened, and he tries to smile encouragingly; months of moroseness have made the expression foreign on his face.

“Yes?”

“His grace is here. He’s summoned you to the parlor.”

Yuuri desires nothing less to refuse and to go barricade himself in his bedroom. But he owes Viktor. And he misses Viktor, too, and so he allows himself to be led by the maid down to the parlor, and only when he is outside the door does he realize he is wearing his worst dress and his hair has not been done.

He stares down at the swell of his belly. Well, it is not as if he were a prize before. He opens the door.

Viktor is indeed there, and he looks well, in blue and grey, hair shining in the morning sunlight. And beside him is—

“Yuuri!” Phichit says. “Ah, excuse me, your grace.”

Yuuri cannot respond. There, beside Phichit, is Seung Gil Lee…the father of Yuuri’s baby. And he is holding Phichit’s hand.

“You must wish me happy,” Phichit says, beaming. “We were just married!”

That is too much. No one could be expected to bear it. Viktor turns to Yuuri, no doubt to make a polite greeting, and Yuuri throws himself at the door and flees.


	5. epistolary marriage of convenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the piece I most regret not finishing, and the one I'm most likely to come back to and expand on. I really enjoyed trying to tell the story in letters, though I don't know how well I succeeded.

Dearest Yuuri,

This is the first love letter I have ever written, and I beg you to forgive any errors I may make; but then, as you will never read this letter, I supposed I may make them as I please. Were your feelings as affectionate as mine, I should pen a very different letter to you, full of sweet nothings and pretty nonsense. But as they are not, I have decided to consign this letter to the fire instead.

Thus do I begin! Before we ever met, there were rumors of you. I suppose every debutante is called the season’s beauty by someone, if only their own family, to increase their consequence. But you are the first I have ever seen where the rumors fell short, rather than be overstated. We were at a ball together—somehow I had contrived an invitation—and we were in the first set. You were at the beginning of the line, and I was at the end, and so I was able to be entirely uncivil to my partner as I watched you dance instead. You were reserved, but as the night went on, you unbent—smiled—laughed.

In that moment, I prayed fervently that somehow we might meet again. Forgive me, my dear, for my hasty prayers were answered, though not in the manner either of us would have chosen, and very much at your expense. Le me assure you that I never imagined anyone could be so degenerate as to abandon you barely decent on the side of the road, barefoot and soaked and vulnerable to all the evils of the world. There is still a part of me that wishes to seek out that man, and give him the thrashing he so richly deserves.

I will not lie to you. I did enjoy sweeping you into my arms and carrying into my house.

If I could only tell you, my love, how much I have despised that estate! How much I have hated the dark and dusty rooms, Mrs. Lowe’s screeching, the way every square inch of the place is heavy with unhappy memories—how much I have grown to love it, merely by dint of your presence there. Your bell-like laughter cleansed the air, your conversation made me forget the cold and the draft, your fine eyes made Mrs. Lowe’s atrocious cooking almost delicious. I must confess an ungentlemanly preference for arguing with you about magical theory; I realize that it is the fashion to merely agree with whatever you say, but I suspect that it would not please you.

And as long as I am making ungentlemanly confessions, sweet Yuuri, I will admit that the rain rendered your dress quite transparent. I did my best to avert my eyes but—well, I will only say that I am assured that your hair is naturally that color.

If it were in my power to make us cross paths again, I would make it so. But we will not. You will marry that idiotic Jean Jacques (whom I think I would despise, even if he were not engaged to you) and I will be left to nurse this passion, this unceasing and selfish and unrequited passion. Even so, my Yuuri, I love you.

I love you with every drop of my blood and with every ounce of my flesh and every one of my breaths.

Ever yours,  
Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

 

Dear Mari,

I am writing to you to beg your help, for I have found myself in a tenuous situation.

While staying at Viscount Hampton’s family estate, I woke up to find him and two of his friends in my bedchamber. I screamed. Then I set one of them on fire. There was a great commotion, and I was thrown from the house.

Be assured I am safe now, as Mr. Nikiforov rescued me, but I cannot return to town with him without risking further scandal. I beg you, come to his estate at once and retrieve me. It is very cold here, and Mr. Nikiforov is very handsome, and I must leave.

Your affectionate brother,  
Yuuri

* * *

 

Viscount Hampton,

I congratulate you, sir, on being the most degenerate scoundrel I have ever heard of. Having spoken to my brother, who is no doubt only one of many of the victims of your immoral behavior, I charge you to behave honorably or face me at dawn. I charge you with the following:

1\. That you did accost my brother, a guest in your house, in his bedchamber in the middle of the night  
2\. That you did attempt to impose yourself on him and then insulted him roundly when he rightfully defended himself  
3\. That you did then blame the entire sorry debacle on my brother when your family came to Yuuri’s aid  
4\. That you allowed your mother, a woman as vile as you are by all accounts, to leave my brother on the side of the road during a snowstorm, alone and unprotected  
5\. That you spread a number of unsavory falsehoods regarding my brother’s conduct in order to conceal your own depravity

You are no gentleman. You are no better than an animal; I have met asses and rats with more honor. I demand satisfaction, Hampton. And I advise you to not to waste a moment. From what I have heard, Mr. Nikiforov is both an excellent shot and possessed of a number of ways to hide an inconvenient corpse, and less inclined on the whole to mind the niceties of honor.

Lady Mari Katsuki

* * *

 

Dearest, loveliest Yuuri,

This is the second letter I have addressed to you with no thought of you reading it. But I have improved since my last, for this time I first penned one that I sent. We are engaged now, after all, and it would look odd to have no correspondence between us. That was a very different letter than this one—much less bold, considerably less explicit. I hope, if it does not please you, that at least it will not displease you.

I find it hard to know what kind of husband you wish me to be, my love, but I will endeavor to meet your expectations. I was shocked beyond measure when you insisted we be wed, but if a marriage of convenience is what you desire, I will oblige.

Forgive me for not calling on you as often as I ought, but the problem of Lady Lidge and her wretched sons has demanded my attention. Your family has said there is not much they can do, without risking your reputation further, but I have no loyalty to their kind of honor, and there is little Lady Lidge can do to me, particularly when her husband owes me a sum greater than ten thousand pounds. You are wondering if I am a gamester, to be owed such a debt! Nothing as exciting as that, my dear; it is only that Lord Lidge, like many peers of the realm, seems to believe that he does not need to pay the tradesmen and shopkeepers he buys from. And while none of them can risk their businesses pressing him for payment, I am happy to buy up the debts and demand repayment in full.

I do not believe Lord Lidge is suited for debtor’s prison, and so do not be surprised if the family tries to insinuate themselves to you in the future. Cut them if you like.

And in regards to Viscount Hampton and his worthless brother, Yuuri, there is another matter I must broach to you here, since I have yet to catch you alone long enough to do so in person. Some of the rumors spread by them suggest that they

It will make no material difference to me whether they did or not. I only wish to know if they hurt you to avoid myself ever causing you pain. Darling mine, be assured that I have no intention of imposing myself on you against your will or your inclination. Well bred omegas are kept in ignorance; I cannot see any sense in forcing your education.

Someday, I hope, your affections might be won; my attentions might be more welcome. Should that happy time every arrive, I promise to devote myself very faithfully to your pleasure.

Darling, if you only knew. I want to bite you. I want to put my hands under your bodice, my mouth under your skirts, and myself, deep within your soaking wet folds, your lips on my lips, your arms around me. Perhaps someday you will long for me with equal fervor.

I will see you tomorrow, before the parson and God.

My heart remains in your hands.

Yours, always,  
Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

 

Dear Phichit,

I am writing you out of pure desperation. I realize that a letter like this, explicit and perverse, will only fuel your worst tendencies, but there is no one else I can trust. Please do not judge me too harshly for what you are about to read, and for God’s sake, after you have read it, burn this letter.

There is both good news and bad news. The good is that I was right, and Mr. Nikiforov is indeed a gentleman in every sense of the word.

The bad news is that I have turned out to be every bit as wanton as Viscount Hampton and Lady Lidge said.

After dinner, Mr. Nikiforov and I parted. I locked myself in my chambers and sent away the maid. It was more difficult than I expected to remove the gown without help, but I managed it without the humiliation of asking Mr. Nikiforov for help. It was then that I began making preparations for the consummation. Did I leave my nightgown on, or remove it? Did I lie beneath the covers, or atop them? Did I put out the lights, or leave them on?

All of the lighting in Mr. Nikiforov’s home is magical, so I could not put it out without reminding him of my indiscretions; the room was warm, so there was no sense in burrowing beneath the blankets. The idea of Mr. Nikiforov removing my nightgown was horrifying, so I removed it myself.

It was while I was arranging myself on the counterpane in what I hoped was a seductive yet modest fashion that the connecting door opened and Mr. Nikiforov appeared. I screamed. He stared very pointedly at the ceiling while I put on my dressing gown, but it was made of sheer lace and upon looking at me, he decided the ceiling was more to his taste.

He tried to wish me a good night; I lost my senses and quarreled with him about my virtue. He assured him that he would not touch me; I begged that he would.

“This is my only right as a married omega,” I said. “Would you deny me it?”

“I should hope you never felt I denied you anything,” he said, and he came and sat beside me.

And he did not.

You were right that Viktor probably keeps a mistress, as he had to have learned to do…that…somewhere. But you were wrong about my having to endure anything.

I did not know anyone could do that with their mouth. Marriage is certainly enlightening.

Yuuri

* * *

Dear Minako,

~~I am writing to ask~~

~~I wish to know~~

~~There must be a way for omegas to seduce their alphas after they are married but I don’t know~~

~~Please help me, I~~

* * *

 

Dear Minako,

Thank you for your kind gift of new dancing slippers. I am sure I will have occasion to wear them soon, as my husband has said that we will be attending a public assembly on Friday. I hope that everything is well at home. Has my sister’s cough improved? Tell her to drink that ginger tea she hates so much.

Everything is fine here.

Yuuri

* * *

 

Dear Yuuri,

Enclosed are the etiquette manuals you requested! No, do not make that face, I am joking. These are the salacious novels you requested, though I cannot imagine why you need them. Your reputation was rescued by a handsome but unrefined tradesman! You are in a salacious novel! Stop reading and do write and tell me exactly what he did with his mouth, I am all aflutter with curiosity.

Yours,  
Phichit

* * *

 

Seduction Materials:

~~Pink stockings~~  
 ~~Chemise~~  
Water (for dampening)  
Champagne (for courage)  
Oil?

* * *

 

Mr. Nikiforov,

When you are finished with your work, if you could attend me, I would much appreciate it. I am in my bedchamber.

Yuuri

* * *

 

Yuuri,

My dear, I will wait on you directly. I can spare a few minutes between meetings. Are you ill? My study is only a short walk from your room.

Viktor

* * *

 

Mr. Nikiforov,

There is no hurry. Please come after your work is done.

Yuuri

* * *

 

Yuuri,

Very well, I see you require more than a few minutes of my time. But must you address these notes so formally? My given name is Viktor, though I am called ‘Vitya’ by my friends. Surely either of those are more intimate than Mr. Nikiforov, which makes you seem like one of my clerks.

Viktor

* * *

 

Vitya,

I have changed my mind. Do come at once.

Yuuri

* * *

 

Dear Phichit,

Thank you for sending the novels. They were of great assistance. Please never wear pink stockings or dampen your petticoats, for you will certainly drive whatever alpha sees you into a frenzy.

I will write properly later. At the moment Viktor is waking up, and I should attend him.

Your friend,  
Yuuri


	6. epistolary marriage of convenience, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may be slightly inebriated at this moment so sorry

Dear Yuuri,

I write to you on a cold and rainy evening. Fall is dreary here in the north, and neither the lodgings nor the food have done anything to improve it. Even the fires here seem to generate less heat. I beg your forgiveness for not writing immediately, but there was a flood only hours after I arrived. Every able-bodied alpha was needed to rescue those who were trapped, and build up the bullwarks against the rising water.

I am dry now, at least, and ensconced safely in my rooms at the inn. The man I have come here to do business with offered my a room at his home, but it would not due to accept his hospitality before our business partnership was all settled. The bed at this inn is inadequate, my dear, and I have hardly slept an hour before being compelled to rise, and walk about.

Our business I think will be fruitful, and with some effort we may even see a return on our investment by spring. And there will be a chance to import that which is very rare here in England. I have obtained for you some yards of a silk that are so fine, so soft, they may yet do justice to you. I hope that the color will suit your tastes. (It is a dark blue. You told me you favored blue, once. And to be frank, my love, I do not know that I can ever see your in pink again, and hope to maintain my equanimity in public.)

Dear one, I hope that you have had a chance to see your family, and to perhaps host a small dinner for them. Indeed I am sure you must miss them. Christophe promised me to attend you while I was gone; if you require an escort somewhere, you have only to send word to him. I have monopolized you terribly, I think, since we were married, and of course it will not do for you to have no amusement.

Is there anything else I should bring for you? Anything at all?

Your servant,

Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

 

Dear ~~Viktor~~ Vitya,

Everything is well here. My sister and Minako did come to visit one morning. I gave them a tour of the house, and showed them the gardens, and then after a light supper we went to Bond Street to shop. We bought several things. I hope you will like them. If you do not I can wear them when you are not home.

If you are uncomfortable at the inn, perhaps you should take your business partner’s offer after all, and rest more comfortably. I should not wish for you to be ill, especially when the weather is so poor. It has rained here, too, for three days. I cannot say I like it. I appreciate being warm and dry now more than I ever have.

I hope you will return soon.

Yours,

Yuuri ~~Katsuki~~ Nikiforov

* * *

 

Dear Yuuri,

You are quite mistaken. It is not the bed itself that afflicts me, nor its relative warmth, dryness, or softness. No, it is that the bed remains empty. I find myself unable to sleep without you to fill it. And if you were here, and this were but a pile of hay in an old barn, I would sleep as well as anyone.

We are near an agreement here, Mr. Lee and I. He is a curious man; I should not like to have him over for dinner. He does not eat vegetables, any vegetables. I watched him eat nothing but meat and water for days, and could not help but find my own appetite quite reduced. For myself, at least, there was an attempt at more diverse fare. But his chef is out of practice. The meals are such that I finally gave myself leave to beg off and eat at the inn.

What do you like to eat, Yuuri? I have noticed that you prefer simpler dishes, but do not know what sort of things you ate at home. Was it very traditional? If there are recipes or ingredients more to your liking than are currently in use, you have only to say the word. It can very easily be done.

The rain here continues unabated. I suspect when I come home my valet will destroy these boots. I am glad to think of you warm and dry at home, darling. When I think of how you must have suffered due to Lady Lidge and Viscount Hampton’s behavior…

I hope I will return to you soon. Indeed, in all my waking hours, I think of little else.

Always,

Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

 

Dear Phichit,

He has a mistress.

I know what you wrote before, that you thought he might hold me in some affection, but I have proof that it cannot be so. If he truly held me in esteem, he would not need to make other arrangements. Though his appetites must be prodigious (perhaps this is merely what alphas are like?). He comes to me quite regularly still. A part of me wishes to turn him away.

But I cannot. If he does have a mistress, surely it is because I do not satisfy him as I ought.

You are wondering, no doubt, what sort of proof I have. I have not seen them together; I have not heard anyone’s name bandied about at parties. No, what happened is this: Viktor brought for me from his journey north the most beautiful silk, for a dress. It is a dark blue and from what I understand, it is very dear. At the time, I was pleased that he had thought of me, and even remembered what colors I like.

But then, while I was in his room, retrieving my dressing gown, I found another length of silk, wrapped in linen and hidden away. I know I should not have looked, Phichit, but that dressing gown was one I had stuffed out of the way, so that Viktor would not realize that while he was away I slept in his bed. And the silk that he had hidden was pink! Viktor wrote to me, explicitly, that I did not look well in pink. So it is for someone else, and as Viktor does not have a sister, it must be his lover.

I feel foolish, having poured through so many novels to convince him to bed me, only to find myself incapable of holding his attention for longer than a few months. I do not know why I thought I could.

Your friend,

Yuuri Nikiforov

* * *

 

Christophe,

If you would bring the name and address of that French modiste you spoke of to dinner, I would be much obliged to you. I understand that she specializes in the sort of nightgowns that are reserved for only married omegas, and I have some pink silk that I think would suit admirably.

Viktor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im tired and very gay, pls comment


	7. epistolary au part 3

Dear Christophe,

Yuuri has treated me with such cold indifference lately that to be in his presence is near unbearable. You will read this and scoff, and complain of my being too much in his pocket. I do not see how a man in love can suffer from too much of the company of its object. Indeed, someday you will be as overcome as I am, and I will mock you greatly on that day.

But that is not my primary reason for writing you at this time. I have heard rumor that Lady Lidge has come to town. Naturally she has not dared to appear anywhere where I might have the pleasure of confronting her, but her degenerate progeny are here, wasting their money in gambling halls and on drunken revelry. I hope they bankrupt themselves and their families. And if they do not, I continue to hold Lord Lidge’s debts, and have no intention of ceasing to press him for the funds. I have half a mind to play with Viscount Hampton myself; it would satisfy me to watch him throw away his coin in person. And if I could hold his debts I would have him in prison in a second. Alas, I think he is just intelligent enough to know if I see him I will thrash him.

You have entrance into society where I do not, and hear gossip that never reaches my ears. Pray find out what the truth of the matter is, and what I ought to do about it. If this is the matter that plagues my Yuuri, I will happily call Viscount Hampton out, and ensure his mother can never show her face in London again. As it is all I can do now is sit in silence and try not to impose too much upon him. I wish we had met properly, in a ballroom, in some romantic fashion instead!

Your friend,  
Viktor

* * *

 

Dear Viktor,

You are easily the stupidest man in all England. I cannot imagine what flights of fancy exist in your mind, to believe there is no romance between you and your husband. Unbearable to be away from him! What is unbearable to be in the same room as him, for he cannot help but stare at you, and whenever you approach the room or leave it he can do nothing but look longingly at the door. He knows, too, when you are about; he never looks half so pleased when the footsteps are that of the maid.

No romance! Viktor, for a man who has read more novels than any alpha should, you remain woefully ignorant. Let me tell you what has occurred. Your husband was engaged, by his family, to an alpha whose only good quality was his lineage. He was imposed upon, and threatened, and thrown out in what I understand were inhumane conditions. And then, my friend, you swooped in like a hero to rescue him. You will bemoan the state of your house and the insupportable behavior of your housekeeper, but I would bet the contents of my purse that you no doubt carried him into the house, and settled him yourself in whatever part of the house was most comfortable, and suffered yourself in the cold and damp.

You will try to convince me that whatever occurred between you was nothing more than common courtesy, but I doubt that poor Yuuri, wrapped in your coat and under the full force of your concern, thought that it was excessively romantic. You are surprised he wanted you to marry him; I am surprised you continue to behave like an ignorant fool, instead of imposing yourself upon your husband nightly.

For god’s sake, never mind Lady Lidge and her ilk. Tear off his new nightgown and have done with it.

Your friend, unfortunately,  
Christophe Giacometti

* * *

 

Mr. Nikiforov,

I hope you will not be too offended that I have written to you myself, but forgive me on the basis that I have been Yuuri’s friend for a long time. Of late his correspondence has lacked cheerfulness. I suspect you to be the cause. I hope you will heed my reproofs, as I am sure you must wish for Yuuri’s happiness as I do. And if you do not, I insist you reform yourself.

Sir, it is wrong to be unfaithful to your spouse. It is wrong to keep a mistress when you have not been marred a twelvemonth. And it is both wrong and stupid to buy your mistress and your husband the same gift. I shall not say what I think of you keeping that gift in your chambers where Yuuri was sure to find it, nor will I stoop to calling you an idiot.

It is my hope that you will abandon all outside interests and devote yourself fully to my friend, who I am sure is more worthy of it than anyone.

Your servant,  
Phichit Chulanont

* * *

 

Mr. Chulanont,

I hope you will not be too offended that I have enclosed this note inside Yuuri’s letter, but forgive me on the basis that under these circumstances, I would not like to be caught writing to an unmarried omega. Yuuri has been unhappy lately, and I am indebted to you for revealing the cause. To think that he could think so low of me, when it was entirely his decision that we were wed at all! I cannot make out what he means by it.

I applaud your loyalty to your friend, and can assure you that there are no outside interests, that I have never strayed, that Yuuri is everything to me. I would promise to devote myself more fully, but it is impossible: he already wholly owns me.

I trust that Yuuri will acquaint you with the truth of the matter when he writes to you next.

Your servant,  
Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

 

Dear Phichit,

Ignore everything I wrote before, I was very much mistaken. He does like pink. In fact, he likes it too well; I do not think I can ever wear in public again without blushing.

In regards to your request: my footman will deliver them today with this letter.

Affectionately,  
Yuuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: the epistolary romance is now its own complete fic here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635574/chapters/36308127


	8. The Convenient Marriage AU part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA that time drunk yuuri won viktor in a game of cards and then forgot it happened. based, very loosely, off of The Convenient Marriage by Georgette Heyer.
> 
> the saga continues!

“Oh, Yuuri!” Aunt Horatia flings herself down the steps to embrace him. “How clever you are!”

Yuuri stares at her, stiff in her arms. In his entire life Aunt Horatia has never had anything pleasant to say about him. She and his Uncle Horace dislike him, and resent having to host him at their townhome for the Season, and complain often about the expense and Yuuri’s failure to catch an alpha that will add to their consequence. He suspects that Uncle Horace is not as plump in the pocket as he would like society to believe. _If they are relying on me to bring money into the family,_ Yuuri thinks, _they will be forever disappointed. I will no doubt die alone, surrounded by dogs._

“…thank you?”

“He is in the parlor,” she says. “Go and speak to him at once, and then send him to your uncle before he changes his mind!”

“Who is in the parlor?” Yuuri hopes it is not his cousin Eustace, who is his aunt and uncle’s only child. As Aunt Horatia and Uncle Horace are only related to him by marriage and distantly at that, with Aunt Horatia being the sister of his mother’s brother’s husband, his aunt and uncle have more than once suggested that if Yuuri cannot manage a good match, he will do for Eustace.

Eustace drinks too much and cannot hold his liquor, has been banned from two brothels according to Phichit, and never bathes.

“Your betrothed! Go on, now!”

“My what,” Yuuri says. But it is too late; he is being shoved into the parlor. The door is shut behind him; the door is locked behind him.

The room does not smell like brandy and vomit, at least. So it is not cousin Eustace, unless by some miracle he has been forced to wash. Yuuri forces himself to raise his eyes from the carpet. _Surely,_ he thinks, _this is some kind of misunderstanding—_

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Nikiforov says.

Yuuri does not scream, but it is a near thing. Mr. Nikiforov has no business calling on Yuuri, in the afternoon long after polite visiting hours, smiling like that. How does Mr. Nikiforov even _know_ where Yuuri lives? They’ve never even been introduced. Yuuri has only ever seen him at balls and in the street.

“Good afternoon,” Yuuri says faintly.

“I called this morning, but you were not at home,” Mr. Nikiforov continues. “Though after that quantity of spirits I could not, I think, have expected you upright any earlier than three o’clock.”

“Ah.”

That explains his hazy memory of last night. It also explains the kittens. But it does not explain why Mr. Nikiforov is here.

“No matter.” Mr. Nikiforov takes Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri is wearing his most worn gloves, the leather over the joints so thin and cracked slivers of skin are visible. The warmth of Mr. Nikiforov’s hand penetrates. “I’ve come to discuss the settlements.”  
  
“…pardon?”

“I know that it is not done,” he says, “but under the circumstances, I thought you would want some input.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Yuuri lies.

“Don’t be shy.” Mr. Nikiforov presses his hand. Yuuri is quite certain he is dead now. “Whatever you wish will be done.”

“Oh, I…I’m not sure…”

“Should I go to your father immediately, then? You had better give me his direction.”

The truth is dawning on Yuuri, like the cold sun of a winter day. Mr. Nikiforov thinks that they are engaged. Or possibly Yuuri is hallucinating after having overimbibed. The right and proper thing to do would be to tell him at once that it cannot be so.

That would be the moral thing.

“My family is in Hasetsu,” Yuuri says, “but perhaps I had better go there first, so my father does not…that is, so he understands…”

“Of course.” Mr. Nikiforov brings Yuuri’s hand to his lips. Yuuri does not swoon, but he comprehends now why the protagonists of gothic novels always do. “Shall I lend you my carriage?”

* * *

 

“What do you mean, you are engaged to Mr. Nikiforov?” Minako asks. By the time Yuuri arrived at home, she was already drinking. “You have never met him. You write every week moaning about he is too beautiful for words.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” Mari says flatly. “How did you come to be engaged to him?”

“I don’t know.”

“…you don’t know?”

“One minute I was at home, despairing,” Yuuri says, “And the next I was waking up in bed with kittens and Mr. Nikiforov was at our uncle’s house, asking me about marriage settlements.”

“Yuuri—”

“And look, he brought a ring.” Yuuri thrusts out his hand, where a golden band rests on his finger. “And he said that he would find homes for all the kittens. He took one home himself. He is naming her Biscuit.”

“How do the kittens come into it?”

“How should I know?”

“Is there anything you _do_ know? What sort of man is he?”

“Well,” Yuuri says, “he—has beautiful hair. And a beautiful smile. And a beautiful dog.”

“Does he have any useful qualities?”

“He’s very kind to his dog! And to the kittens. And he has ten thousand a year at least.”

Minako chokes. “Ten thousand! And he wants to marry you?”

“What’s wrong with Yuuri?” Mari asks. “I daresay he is too good for Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Of course he is,” Minako says impatiently. “But rich alphas want either connections or money, generally, along with a pretty face. Yuuri, you didn’t…”

“I didn’t?”

“You said you were drunk. Nothing untoward could have happened?”

“You mean—he has proposed because of honor?” Yuuri cannot keep the disappointment from his voice. He is certain that if Mr. Nikiforov wanted Yuuri to do something untoward Yuuri would do it. Perhaps that is what happened. So when Mr. Nikiforov had come to see him about the settlements, what he had meant was that Yuuri ought to ask for nothing, in light of the sacrifice he was making. And it is a sacrifice; a man with ten thousand a year and the face of an angel can have his choice.

“I suppose we will find out when he comes,” Mari says. “Father will ask him—”

“No!” Yuuri knocks over his tea. “No. Please, do not ask him anything.”

“Don’t you want to know?”

“Of course not. Just tell him—tell him if he wants to cry off I shan’t be offended.”

Yuuri waits impatiently in Minako’s sitting room, pacing up and down, lying on the sofa, complaining when neither his sister nor Minako will share the wine. He hears Mr. Nikiforov’s voice when he arrives, but cannot make out the words. His sister goes downstairs, citing a need to find out for herself the particulars of this peculiar event. What is Mr. Nikiforov wants to see him? What will Yuuri say? But no one calls for him. Eventually, the front door opens again, and Mr. Nikiforov is gone. The hour is late. Yuuri is near a wreck.

“Well?” he says as soon as Mari returns. “What did he say? What did Father say? Is he crying off?”

Mari shakes her head. “He is not going to cry off,” she says darkly. “I have never seen a man more besotted in my life. If you don’t want to marry him, you had better say so now. He seems quite determined to have you.”

“I do not actually think, other than this morning, that we have met.”

“He’s coming again tomorrow. He’ll probably bring you some overly large jewel as an engagement gift.”

* * *

 

Mr. Nikiforov brings Yuuri a box of biscuits and the assurance that all the kittens have homes now.

“My cousin took one,” he explains, “and Christophe—excuse me, Mr. Giacometti—took one, and I have taken one. My aunt took the fourth, and the fifth will be yours.”

“Oh, I cannot—”

“She can stay with me until the wedding.”

Yuuri squints at him. “You just wish to have another kitten, don’t you?”

“…no.” Mr. Nikiforov actually blushes. “Well. Makkachin likes them.”

“Makkachin?”

“My dog.”

“You could not bring her along?” Yuuri has seen Mr. Nikiforov’s large, fluffy, and perfect dog.

“I tried,” Mr. Nikiforov says. “But she wouldn’t leave the kittens.”

Despite himself, Yuuri grins and takes a biscuits. They’re delicious. He’s sure Vicchan will like to have some kitten friends, and another dog to play with. Perhaps this is not such a terrible idea after all.


	9. an affair in five parts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more of that dark and scandalous au! belated birthday gift for uaevuon

1.

“Is it because you hate him so much?”

“Hm?”

“Payne. Is it—is this—because you hate him so much?”

Viktor stares at him in confusion while Yuuri readjusts his bodice and smooths his hair, in a vain attempt to look less like he has been lying on the chaise underneath Viktor for the past hour. His spectacles are crooked. Viktor gently adjusts them. Yuuri pushes back his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.

“I do not hate him.”

“You ruined him,” Yuuri protests. “You deliberately and calculatedly ruined him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Viktor repeats. “I envy him. He has the only thing in the world I want and cannot have.”

“What could he possibly have that you cannot get? You took all his money. You carted all the furniture out of the house.”

Viktor runs a finger down Yuuri’s cheek. “Can you not guess?”

2.

“You shouldn’t come to see me often,” Yuuri says as he pours Viktor tea. Viktor has tried to convince Yuuri not to stand on ceremony, but Yuuri insists. “People are saying we’re having an affair.”

“Mm,” Viktor says. He accepts the cup; their gloved fingers brush. “Perhaps we should.”

Yuuri chokes on his mouthful of tea. He does not respond, and Viktor does not press. But he cannot help but notice that Yuuri eyes him speculatively.

3.

When Yuuri is aroused he drips.

His lips are wet. Heat-milk runs down his chest, leaving white tracks on his skin and pooling in his navel and leaking sweet on Viktor’s tongue. Slick beads on the soft pink folds between his legs and soaks Viktor’s wandering fingers. He’s like the spring rain that puts leaves on the trees and grass on the ground; he reinvigorates in Viktor desires he thought were long buried.

Outside the leaves are falling and the world is full of pain and sin. But in Viktor’s heart, he thinks, Yuuri’s mouth wet against his, it is spring.

4.

Over the winter Yuuri’s hair grows long. Viktor learns every inch of him. He learns Yuuri’s forehead, with dark, stubborn brows, and the sweeping lashes beneath them. In stolen afternoons and evenings he peels away every layer of Yuuri’s clothing, from the twice-turned gowns cunningly remade to the chemises and stockings worn soft with use. He worships the skin beneath.

Yuuri’s waist is minuscule, his thighs plush. He bites his nails. He likes to sew and between bouts of intercourse conversation he mends and stitches and embroiders. Viktor finds himself bringing him buttons and lace, asking him to judge the textiles Viktor imports, holding still while Yuuri, with great care, adjusts what he insists are errors in the make of Viktor’s clothes.

“You ought to be a dressmaker,” Viktor teases. He occupies himself by pressing his nose against Yuuri’s throat.

Yuuri shudders.

“Hmm?”

“…I wanted to be.”

“Oh?”

“Once I even—but I wasn’t suited.” Yuuri puts down the screen he is using to work on the handkerchief he is embroidering. There is a tiny poodle instead of flowers. He sighs.

“Your family disapproved?”

“No.”

Yuuri says nothing. Viktor opens his mouth to ask more, then checks himself. Should Yuuri wish to tell him, he will.

“You make beautiful things,” he says instead.

After a long moment, Yuuri puts his hands on Viktor’s back; he caresses; he says nothing, but when Viktor lifts his head he looks pleased.

5.

He remembers the exact moment Yuuri chose him. He remembers the way the firelight had made the scanty peach silk orange, remembers the way the rouge on Yuuri’s nipples had stained his dress, remembers the pre-heat flush on Yuuri’s cheeks. After the auction it was Viktor who had escorted him upstairs again. Payne hadn’t been pleased, but Viktor had made it clear that mistreating his husband would make Viktor vindictive.

“I told you not to interfere,” Yuuri mutters as they walk down the dark, cold hall.

“I know.”

“You could not ruin him.”

“I could,” Viktor says, “but that would leave any number of tradesmen, and innkeepers, and servants, and tenants, farmers, and who knows who else unpaid. Should I let them be ruined in his stead?”

Yuuri winces. “What about the debts of honor?”

“Did I force him to gamble at gunpoint?”

“You didn’t discourage him.”

Viktor shrugs.

Yuuri stops outside what must be his bedchamber door. He rests his hand on the knob, as if to turn it, and then drops his hand.

“Mr. Nikiforov. Viktor.” Yuuri licks his lips. “I have been thinking on what you said.”

“On what I said?”

“Under the circumstances,” Yuuri says, and he smooths the ruined front of his dress down, “I think we should have an affair.”

Viktor can be accused of many sins—of coveting a married man, of deliberating ruining that man’s husband, of gambling too high and drinking too much—but not of indecision.

“As you wish,” he says, and he takes Yuuri in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the words of jonathan van ness, i am "strugs to func"


End file.
